


You Lost Yourself

by VioKun



Category: Homestuck, MS Paint Adventures
Genre: AU, Gen, Multi, Pet Trolls, Petstuck
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-18
Updated: 2014-11-25
Packaged: 2017-12-29 18:08:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1008439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VioKun/pseuds/VioKun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The result of a recent brain injury leaves Mituna out on the streets. While he is barely seven years old, he's about to find out how the real world works. He continues to adjust to a new way of thinking and doing things, but, more often than not, he finds out that his actions have left his mind behind, and there are consequences to pay.</p><p>Petstuck!AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Cleanup

               You are the one who makes yourself feel powerless. Not you, but you.  You as in your brain. The big guns who makes all the decisions. And it just so had the nerve to go ahead and get itself damaged. You know it sounds silly to actually blame it, but it makes you feel better about yourself.

               Yourself being a scrawny, furry, pet of a troll. With your double horns, ears, tails, and all other nuisances that come with your mutation. Having failed to clean up yet, your yellow fur is soaked to the core in blood. Shock pulses through your being. You lived, but you wouldn’t resent death.

               A wail finds itself in your throat, and in seconds you’ve alerted the household; had the screeching and snarling not already done so. A younger housemaid is first to find you. Holding up her dress as she hustles forward. It saddens you to know that it’s not because of your beauty that she has stopped. In fact, it is the very opposite.

               Vaguely in your mind you understand that she must not be used to blood. Or fights. Or small pets screaming their lungs out. Your insides are practically on fire by now. A good distraction to the deafening pulse of your blood pusher, and the rush of pain that runs down to your very core.

               You’ve never been able to tolerate pain.

               “Mituna!” That’s your name, you know it. But you don’t like the way it sounds on her tongue. Is she mad? Is that what mad people sound like? “Mituna, come here… Come on, let me fix you up,” she coaxes. Now you know she’s mad. That’s what mad people do, right? Offer to help and care for you.

               The offer is tempting, but your feet are glued to the ground. You can’t move. Your legs don’t listen. _Nothing_ is listening. No, that’s wrong. Your ears are. Your ears listen to the chaos around you.

               Her body listens to her. It allows her to lift you up from the ground, and cradle you in her arms. The gesture is off putting. Too close. Too much touching. Nasty gross feeling of fingers against your fur. Off. Off. _Off._

               A snarl breaks your wailing. A pathetic noise that is lost in the sound of your hiccups. The young housemaid doesn’t take notice of your threat. You’re kind of glad. You’re tired. Very tired, in fact. Everything is just moving too fast. Too much. You feel sick. Senses overloaded to the point of exhaustion. Was everything always this hard to understand?

               The feeling of water engulfing your body brings you back to reality. You still have your overalls and shirt on. The weight of them makes you feel heavy. You manage to sustain your balance, but it’s all you can think about. Hell to the bubbles tingling around your body. And the gentle coos.

               It’s an eternity before she’s done. You know because you counted. Or tried to. Somewhere along the way you just began to repeat numbers to yourself. Those numbers sounded good, you know they were real. They helped you ignore the pain from your think pan.

               “Mituna?” It’s her voice again.  You don’t like it. You don’t know why you keep reminding yourself of how much you hate her saying your name. It always sounds like she’s spitting at you, like it’s some form of an insult that you’ve never had the chance to hear. “Mituna, can you hear me?”

               What is she? Dense? Of course you can hear her. That question is stupid, so you ignore it. She’s probably sided with Klilic, the troll who attacked you, and is only here to make you hurt, too.

               “Mituna Captor,” she pushes, wrapping her chubby fingers around your jaw. She’s making your body not listen. You didn’t want to turn and face her, but she made you. It makes you mad, you think. So you frown, and give the meanest look you can muster. “Don’t give me that look,” she huffs, shaking her head at your foul attitude.

               “Ow.” Yes, you are a master of the English language. You press your hands to your ears. Of all things to remember, lying has been marked down as one. “Voice is hurting my ears. Ears. Here. On head.” Yes, that sounded good. She understood. Or so you suspect. It’s not like there’s a sign telling what’s going on in her mind. Even if there was, it wouldn’t matter, it’s illegal to give a troll that sort of information.

               “Let me wipe off your face, okay? It’s gonna hurt, but if I don’t do it you’ll get worse boo boos. Then Mistress Summer wouldn’t be very happy, would she?”

               “No,” you reply. You know the answer to that question. You’ve heard it before, but you can’t remember when. All you know is Mistress Summers is your human. No one could even begin to compare.  Not that you ever liked the woman.

               Ignoring the obvious pain in your voice, she begins to wipe the yellow coated blood stains from your cheek and eyes. It doesn’t hurt as bad as she made it out to be. It hurts, but only briefly until the pain goes from pounding to numbing. She traces the outlines of every scar driven into your face. You can still feel the ghost of nails tearing at the flesh, and a shudder runs through your body.

               Your mismatched eyes find her hazel ones. There lies no concern in them, only determination. You don’t know why you want her to feel bad for you, but something said she should. But she’s not, and you’re rather okay with that. Wow, even you can admit that that made absolutely no sense.

               The drain for the tub is pushed down, and the water is now able to escape. It runs empty with the sound of popping and sucking noises. You’re left shivering, drenched, and miserable. The towel she wraps around you matches the scheme of the bathroom; a gentle baby blue.

               Its material is soft and fluffy against your fur. Morgan. That’s her name. You were drawing a blank for the longest time. _Morgan_ dabs gently at your matted fur. The few bits that do dry are quick to become puffed. You look ridiculous. The numbing pain allows you to realize that. It also allows you to pick up on a conversation happening outside the door.

               “Out? You mean as in give him up?” Silence. “Mistress, I do not mean to question you, but isn’t that illegal? It’s not…? Are you sure?” The voice silences for a minute, and there’s a soft, “I understand. I will assure that Mituna Captor is out of the house by sunrise. Goodnight, Miss Summers.”

               You know what’s going to happen the second that knob turns.  You’ve seen it before. Whoever is on the other side takes their time in opening. Your blood-pusher pounding. It’s time for you to go, just like every other disobedient troll. You’ll live the rest of your days suffering, alone, and hungry.

               He is an older, bald man. He dresses in formal attire, much like everyone else in the household, and still holds a black cellphone to his ear. Here it comes. His eyes lock with yours, and he seems to hesitate.

               “Mituna,” he begins, his voice much more concerned than that of Morgan’s, “in order to prevent such fights or outbursts again, you have been kicked from the Summer’s household. As soon as you dry off and change, I have prepared the car.” His eyes flick to Morgan. “Help him, and assure that I know of it the second you two are done.”

               Mouth dry, you cannot find the words, or actions. It’s hard to comprehend, but yet you understand at the same time. Your mind and body fight it, but a logical part of you knows. Despite your unique mutation that makes you of the exotic type, a high blood is worth much more than you. No matter what you say, you cannot stay. Clenching and unclenching your hand, you allow yourself to be bustled around.

               The world moves in a blur. You can’t focus on it.  You vaguely recall your clothes being changed. Your fur being air blown. Your hands, arms, and face being bandaged. Yet, it still feels like a dream. Like, as you’re recalling it, it’s not real, but a figment of your imagination. Even the car ride there is hazy.

               However, that blurred world snaps into focus as your bare feet touch the ground, and you realize this is real. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed chapter one! I hope to update on Fridays regularly. This chapter has set up the playing field for all the events about to go down.


	2. Gathering Tree

            You've lost control.

            Your fingers tremble, and you watch the car depart. The tires churn as it flees from the alley. Your home. The thought makes something inside you sink.

            Slow, deep breaths. That's what they kept whispering towards you. Funny how they all seemed to suddenly care. Shushing you. Coddling you. They never cared this much. It was fake. You knew it was.

            Still, their advice doesn't help. Your breathing only seems to escalate. You can feel vibration in your chest. It's not just air, there's something more. Something that leaves you feeling like you’re on the brink of coughing.

            You're scared. That much is obvious. Outside is a completely foreign land to you. It makes you long for the comfort of soft blankets and carpeted floors. Gentle hums of the air conditioner. Hushed voices of the housemaids. Not... Not this. _Anything_ but this. Anything but the musky air, and the darkening skies.

            Your ears find themselves tucked back, and you tail hides itself away between your legs. You drop onto all fours. An undignified act in any proper household. One that would surely earn you a scolding if seen. They threw you out, so what does it matter what they say about your disgraceful walking? The answer passes your mind, but you refuse to acknowledge it. You find yourself back up onto your hind legs, and smoothing down the pajamas you'd requested on your departure. Old habits die hard.  

            Fully prepared to delve into another realm of your own self-made hell, you nearly jump out of your skin when small hands are on your back, and a curious nose against your ear. Your body tries to formulate a proper response, but only makes you quiver.

Its scent burns your nose. Sweet and warm. Obvious signs of a low blood. They’re too close for you to retreat. The only option for you now is to sit quietly as you're inspected. And pray to whatever troll god there may be that you don't fail.

            "Hello.” The accented words allow your defenses to fall. At best, you were expecting death. Still, she's too close for your brain to function. Focusing on breathing is your priority. In and out. No threat. You are not a threat, do not make yourself appear as one.

            "You okay?" she questions, her nose briefing by your ear again. You give no response. She huffs, and walks until she's facing you. She's a small troll, a rust-blood. The reddish hue of her fur gives this much away. Still, for a low blood she has some massive, curved, rigid horns. It was hard to tell the condition of her health. She appears to be in fit shape. Perhaps a bit on the small side.

            She wears a red shirt, a red skirt, two long white socks, and little red shoes. Although, one might point out how everything about her is covered in filth. It’s set in, but not smelly. Or how her knees and legs quivered from the chill. Why didn't she find something else to wear?

            "Me Damara," she explains, gesturing towards herself. Well, you're Mituna. That was supposed to be out loud. Say it out loud. _Mituna._

            "'M Mituna," you whisper, and turn your head away from her. She has to be mean. Or infested with something. Possibly crazy. TV had said so. All homeless were, and she fit the description of a homeless person, but so did you.

            "You lost? Can find home. Humans miss."           

            "No," you counter after a slight hesitation, "they left me here. Mistress's man just drove away." The words constrict your throat. For a moment you believe she's going to prod you for information, but she just nods.

            "Happens lot," she adds in a matter-o-fact tone. That makes you feel a little better. No, that’s a lie. She offers her hand to you, and you stare at it. You don't shake hands. Especially with anything so dirty. It sounds rude, considering she's the only thing you have out here so far. Okay, take her hand.

            It’s much softer than you expected.

            “Where are we going?”

            “Place.”

            Yes, she’s is definitely the long winded type. Maybe you should tell her to slow down a bit. Or if she could repeat that last bit. But sarcasm is something that has gone completely over your head, and you’d make yourself look like an idiot. Focus on walking.

            Tiny pebble, big pebble. Bad smell. Big cans smell bad. Avoid them. Damara also walks fast. It’s a wonder she can keep up such a pace with those awful looking shoes. Maybe they’re magic.

            Your destination is odd. A half withered tree, and from every limb hangs some sort of cloth. Most blow in the air idly, but a few do touch the ground and create a small barrier.

            “Home. Sleeps here. I show.” She opens the curtain and points to the blanket and pillow. That’s it. That’s the tour. You honestly want to know why you expecting more. “Enjoys guest. Can stay.”

            The words roam around your head. Testing their perimeters, before settling on allowing you to smile. This is certainly more than you could call home half an hour ago. She beams back at you, and ushers you into her little home.

            With the both of you, there isn’t much room to move around. But it’s cold, so no one complains about a little extra heat. Damara seems to be searching for something to entertain you with. Hell, you should probably search with her. You may still have the looming cloud of disappointment over you, but you are just a child. And as a child you require constant forms of entertainment. And food.

            Your stomach doesn’t growl on cue. You almost wish it did. Then maybe she would offer you something. No, all your stupid stomach does is twist into knots. Why couldn’t it just be noisy for you? Social encounters aren’t exactly where you thrive.

            “Damara?”  Her head turns towards you, and she’s smiling again. “I’m hungry.” Annnd she’s done smiling, and the smile is replaced with a scowl. She drums her fingers along her knees. Her thinking face is kind of cute.

            “Come with,” she tells you, and slips out of the secluded area. Her tail is thick, and it drags across the ground when she walks. You stumble behind her, and let your ears prick to show your attentiveness. She’s easy to focus on. She’s simple. No headaches.

            She begins to walk, and now you can determine that she was abandoned as well. She walks in an uppity manner. But it’s been beaten down to near nonexistence, and if it weren’t for her dash of properness, you would’ve overlooked it. You don’t bring it up.

            Your stride meets hers, and you realize how much easier it is to walk when you’re not upset. Or as upset. You click your teeth in suppressed excitement. It’s a long walk, and your excitement starts to dwindle. Extensive walking wasn’t something you had ever dealt with before. And when you felt like you couldn’t take another step, you walked some more. A lot more. By the time you reach your destination, your legs are numb and the whine from your stomach had turned into a sob.

            It’s… big. Chairs swoop in a sort of U-shape. Below all the seats is a diamond field with little white boxes placed at (what seems to be) random. Damara sniffs around, and you follow after her. She filters in between the chairs before- _ah-ha_ , she finds a half-eaten hotdog.

            You’re disgusted, but interested. It’s not in bad shape, but the scent of humans is still fresh on it. You cram it in your mouth. Manners? What are manners? She has led you to the watering hole, and, _hell yea_ , you’re gonna drink it. You’re pretty sure that’s how that goes.

            She doesn’t mind you wandering off, so you go through everything. Half way through you opt for crawling. You’re closer to food anyway. You find a yellow-tinted drink. It tastes awful and you find out that you prefer a bubbly black one.

            Ten minutes flat and you’re stuffed. Oh god, you can barely move. This was a bad idea. You are aware that you have to go _back_ , right?

            Damara shuffles towards you, a few miscellaneous foods shoved into a bag. “Home now. Already dark. Must be careful.” You sigh, but nod your agreement.  The nocturnal instinct had been knocked out of you, and the night made you uneasy. Hand-in-hand you make your way back. It’s a miracle you didn’t pull up a slab of concrete and pass out on the way back.

            Home, the words ‘goodnight’ have barely slipped passed your teeth before you’re gone into a dreamless slumber.


	3. Overbearing

               Rammed. Flipped and skidding across the ground. You’re too small to pull your body to a halt and are forced to wait out until gravity steps in. The fur along your spine raises in natural aggression, but you wish it hadn’t. You’re not mad, you’re not fierce.

               Your eyes remain shut, and when you had coaxed yourself enough to open them you caught wind of a growl, and that idea died on the spot. Along with any other idiotic plans like talking it out, or asking what you had done wrong. You’d just stay like this forever. Yep. Who needs food, air, or exercise?

               Tiny black claws of yours find themselves buried in the ground below you. They fail to help pull you up. Useless, just like everything else on you. You quiver, and fight for the confidence to stand up for yourself. Too bad this is one of the many skills you lack.

               The sound of thundering tiny hooves snaps your eyes open. Just in time to watch your attacker plow into you for a second time. You’re airborne for a second, before you make impact with a tree and drop. Your body refuses to ignore the pain, and continuously reminds you of the predicament you’re in. Not only that, but it finds the need to make your heart drop when you catch a clear glimpse of it.

               _Him_. He’s just a notch below you on the hemospectrum. A bronze blood. His horns are thick, wide, and pointed. His eyes still hold the anonymous orange, but the sharp tang of his blood makes his placement obvious. The bull inspired troll is older. Not much, but older than Damara.

               Wait, where is she?

               You manage to fall out of the way of his next attempted assault, but lying down is not a good place. You hop to your feet, and scoot off to the side. The guarding blankets had been knocked down. Do you really think you could just… book it? Quick, you brief the destroyed den for Damara. Nope, not there, time to bounce.

               You hop forward, and take off into a full fledge run. Now, whoever recommended racing against a bull is stupid and should be killed on the spot. You can feel his horns brushing your hide. Any mistake would be fatal.

               Its footsteps echo behind you. Thundering hooves against soil. Your legs are tired. Actually, all of you is tired. Maybe you should just stop and face him. You peek over your shoulder at his face. Oh _hell_ no. There is no way on Earth you are going to just chitchat with that thing.

               Your heart stops when your feet do.

               Damara. You register her name. She is the reason for your falter. Not that you care. Your attention swaps from yourself to her. You’ve managed to already knock the both of you over, but you still find yourself over her.

               The previously aggressive troll is picking himself up from a stumble. He shakes the dirt from his pelt, and takes in your rigid, protective formation. You are a threat.

               And now he’s not. Spectacular timing. His long ears tuck back, and he whines sharply. If this loser is seriously hitting on Damara right after bulldozing you over you’re gonna-

               “Rufioh!” Damara puffs, her tone taking a sharper edge. She pushes her way up past you. She doesn’t bristle, hiss, or spit. No, she doesn’t have to do that. All she needs is her tone, and that’s scarier than all three combined. “What do Mituna?”

               “Who?” She snaps her tail towards you, and you watch as his prior ferocity is dwindle down to that of a kitten’s. “Oh, him, right.” He fidgets, and you can’t help but to feel a bit smug. “Well, see, I had gone to your den! Where you were vacant, and there’s this yellow blood here! So I had thought that… Maybe he had… Run you out. Yea, I know its lame.”

               “Much bad,” she puffs, and shakes her head, uttering something that you don’t quite catch. An awkward silence passes. Everyone lets it sit there. They all need a chance to get their nerves calmed. Too much in too little time. You’re the last to break out of the trance.

               Damara is dragging her tongue across your face. It’s smooth, and not slimy like a dogs at all. You let her clean your face off. Your nose had apparently been bleeding previously. What had even caused that?  You honestly need to work on becoming aware of your own bodily pain.

               Wait, scratch that. You don’t want to feel the ache in your sides and back. Four pinpricks stand out, and you know that’s where his horns collided with you. The soles of your paws ache from extended use, not to mention the oncoming headache you feel. And whether it’s from stress or lack of sleep, you don’t know.

               Damara has lost interest in your face, and takes her time in smoothing down your hair. _Embarrassing much?_ She offers a purr and you bite your tongue. It’s so soothing and soft that you forgive her for making you look like such a baby.

               Rufioh’s shuffling drags your attention back to you. The fur on your back raises in warning, and he sits back down. Hell yea. You probably just scared the living hell out of this guy.  You best tone down that wicked scary look.

               “All done,” she announces. Standing up, you can see that you were probably wrong about her age. She towers over you by a good six inches. And Rufioh- wait, no, you don’t care.

               It’s a slow walk back to the den. The brown blood is making all of this awkward. You’ve accepted Damara, but you’re positive you’re never going to get along with this guy. He catches your stare and you snap your head forward.

               You hear Damara click her tongue. Oh yea, you two did quite the number here. She glares at you both, before moving in to fix it. Your face burns in embarrassment, but you don’t move to help. You doubt you could even reach the branches if you wanted to.

               She can’t reach them either. Instead, she scales up the tree. Claws tear at bark, but her hold is solid. The blanket stuffed in her hand didn’t appear to have any effect. You watch in awe. Now that looks fun, you want to try. Chattering and twitching in anticipation, you sound no better than a cat stalking birds. Rufioh stifles a laugh. You don’t get the joke.

               He snatches some cloth and climbs the tree. They mimic each other. The blankets have pre-made holes that fit perfectly onto the branch’s twigs, holding it down. A hole on Rufioh’s must’ve gotten stretched in the process, because he makes a new one.

               You’re satisfied to stay on the ground. A few minutes later they’re down to rejoin you. You do play third wheel quite well. A quick nuzzle is exchanged before Rufioh is returning to whatever circle of hell spat him out.

               Grumpy, you push yourself against Damara. She allows, although you’re quite sure you saw her roll her eyes a little bit. “Damara,” you start, and she stares down at you, “I don’t like him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for not updating Friday, I was at a convention, but I will do my best to update regularly from now on.


	4. Our Secret

               “Careful,” she pipes up. You’re not sure how much more careful you can get. If you’re any more careful, you wouldn’t be doing anything at all. Still, you ease up the pressure on the comb. Choppy, gentle strokes. The knots in her hair are slowly reduced, until nothing is left but frizzy waves.

               You set down the wooden comb, and pick at a few stray splinters in your paw. Good thing those teeth of yours are like expert splinter removers. Damara turns over her shoulder, and brushes her nose against your cheek. An affection equal to kisses. She takes a few paces, and stops again. ‘Tail too!’ you can practically hear her saying it.

               Her tail is nowhere near as hectic as her hair. It’s not like yours, all skinny until the top where it puffs up. No, hers is furry all the way up, with long black hairs. It fits her. The art of combing is already under your belt, so you take no time in smoothing out the knots. And maybe you worked a little longer, it’s not often she leans into your touch.

               The comb on the ground signifies that you’re done. Her tail pushes the comb towards her, leaving a trail of squiggles in the dirt. And then she’s closing in on you. Unlike any other troll you’ve encountered, she doesn’t even react to your threats. You shouldn’t have taught her how empty they were.

               The tussled look of your hair is its natural state. It _needs_ to stay there. Laws and big words say so. And breaking the law is bad. Damara could go to jail. Of course, this is a lie, but it worked on the humans. She sets down the weapon and you know you’re safe for a short while.

               Without her hair to do, you can’t say that there is much to do at all. You can hear them coming now. The human people that make laws. They’re coming to outlaw boredom. And the crowd goes wild! Except there isn’t a crowd. And there aren’t any lawmakers nearby. Oh well.

               “Dama, can I go?”

               “Only as far as see tree,” she calls. You scramble out of the opening, and take down the nearest alley. It’s a good thing you were so excited to go. You can’t count how many times you’ve been scolded for rolling in the dust, and that’s not just because you can’t count, either!

               The alley is paved, and overshadowed by tall, crumbling buildings. They’re all sorts of colors. Grey, blue, and red. Others have paintings along them. You try to unscramble the human letters. You fail. It’s still nice to look at, though. Your paws must be dirty. Everything here is dirty. It’s just the way of life.

               Another way of life is to know when you’re being followed. The hair along your spine finds itself standing on end. Up and alert. Your steps become stiffer, and you walk in a sideways-forward motion. The shadowed figure that stalks you is nowhere to be seen. Perhaps it was your imagination. When are you going to learn that your mind plays tricks on you?

               No, this time you know. The surrounding air is suffocated in the stench of trash, and you feel even more powerless. You can’t run away or avoid something if you don’t even know where it is to begin with. It’d be dangerous to call Damara to you now. Not while you’re in the open. Not while you’re pray. You must hide.

               Your eyes scan down the alleyway. It’s void of everything but trash. Past here is only more abandoned shops, buildings, and alleys. Other trolls live around her, there _has_ to be some kind of hiding spot.

               You keep your paw-steps light. Fear of death is a magic thing that can make the previously assumed impossible, possible. You walk in a crouch. Low, tucked away. If you can’t see them then they can’t see you.

               A gap lies between you and the next set of building and alleyways. It’s scary, you believe. All out in the open like that. Anything can happen. It’s too long. Far too long, so you turn the corner instead.  An older troll crosses your path, but doesn’t give you a second glance. You look for your tree. Oh god, it’s gone. It’s been stolen.  You’re going to be in trouble. Damara can’t save you now. This is your fault, see, this is why you’re going to _die._

               “Yellow!” Or maybe it’s because you attract children. The bouncy child claps in triumph. Who doesn’t feel proud over their first catch? She makes grabby hands, and reaches for you. Her tiny fingers barely brush your fur and you’ve already bounced away. Did she think her weird kitty-inspired attire would fool you? That’s a human, and humans are bad.

               She pouts, and reaches for you again. Again, you step just out of her reach. Now it’s a game. She laughs and hops after you. At least she’s stop trying to catch you. She just wants to watch you dodge. After a few more attempts she’s bored, and pulls at the straps of her overalls proudly.

               “Do you want a cookie? I got like… two!”

               “Two?” you repeat. Humans are bad, but cookies are good. So good that this human is good. Two is also good. She grins, and sits down in front of you. You still hold back, but sniff curiously. Where are her parents? She only smells of another troll. You hope they aren’t a package deal.

               “Yea, two. One for me and you. If you tell me your name!”

               “I’m Mituna.”

               “And I’m Nepeta!” she boasts, holding out the crumbled sugar cookie. You grin at the offered treat, and happily place it in your mouth. It tastes of lint and sugar. There couldn’t _possibly_ be a better combination in the world. “I was hunting you! But I’m not gonna hurt you, sit, sit! Nepeta promises to never hurt you, okay?”

               You nod, and wipe the crumbs off on your pants. “Thank you.” There are those manners. You had wondered where they went.

               “You’re welcome! You wanna play a game?” You shake your head and she huffs, but continues to smile. “Okaaay, it’s getting dark anyway! How about tomorrow? We can play all day! Pinky promise you’ll come back here tomorrow?” she asks, holding out her pinky. You stare at your own pinky, and then offer it in the same manner. Nepeta curls her pinky around yours and the deal is sealed. “Okay, then I will see you tomorrow! Bye!”

               She turns and leaves you all alone. At least you don’t need a place to hide anymore. You backtrack. You’re not safe until you can see the tree. Which you’ve lost. You only recall turning once, but did you turn more? Your think pan isn’t responsible. It only tells you some things. It has too many secrets. It’s a maze of alleyways. They darken under the setting sun. The shadows laugh at you. You know they do. You’d laugh at you, too. What idiot loses his own tree?

               “Mituna?” You know that name. You also know that voice.  Your face falls into one of disapproval, and you glare back at Rufioh. He looks weird. Smells weird. Like another troll, a high blood. “Are you lost, is Damara here?” the last part of that sounds worried, and he also glances around expectantly. His shoulders relax as you shake your head. “Want me to take you home?”

               No. But you want to get home, so you begrudgingly agree. Why are there blue patches on his fur? Whatever, you walk. He gets you there quickly, but downright refuses to leave the alleyway. Not that you care.

               “Bye,” you grumbled, and he flicks his tail in response, he’s distracted by something else.

“Wait, hey, Mituna!” he shouts. You look back. “Can you not say anything to Damara? I know I smell funky. You know what, just don’t tell her about this at all, okay? Our little secret, Dude.”

“Okay.” Walking back, you feel heavy. Not only with the knowledge of the scolding you’re going to get, but how you were instructed not to tell Damara about Rufioh’s weird smell. Or his escorting at all. 


	5. Twice

               Does Rufioh live here or something? You pucker your lips in a pout and watch him and Damara talk. You wait for him to bring up your secret from a few days ago, but the chance never arises. Maybe it wasn’t even real. Is it just another part of your imagination? You’re almost sure it happened. Now you’re just doubting yourself.

               “Mituna,” he starts, nuzzling into Damara’s fur, “how about you go play outside for a little bit, and then we’ll come find you?”

               “Why?”

               “Big troll stuff.”

               “Gross,” you whisper, and push past the sheets that box in your den. You know better than to stick around for this. Whatever they’re doing is gross and weird. Alright, your tree is here. Big with a lot of blankets. There’s no way you can lose it twice. Even if you’re tempted to achieve the number two in everything.

               The midday light allows you to see with ease. The sun beats down on your back. The heat is a good kind. Not too harsh. Just gentle enough to make you want to lie down in a patch of glass and rest the rest of the day. Except napping is obviously for little babies, and you are in fact, not a baby.

               The dim, long allies down suffice today. You climb abandoned stairwells, and reach the tops of buildings. You nose around a bit of rubbish and pipes. The metal of the pipes is hot, and you learn to avoid it all together. Unburned noses feel a lot better than burned ones, anyhow. It smells of trolls up here, but you doubt this could be anyone’s den. It’d be in your best bet to just abscond though.

               So you do. Pitter pattering down the stairwell, and happily leaping off of the last step. You turn the corner, and sprint to the last building. Its five buildings down, and you can bet that you’d make it there before your chest hurt and your legs give up. Wind ruffles your fur and hair, and makes your mouth go dry. You love every second of it. A street lies past the last building on this block. You skid and stop at the curb. _Radical._

“Mituna, Mituna! I found you!” You turn on your heels, and find yourself nose to nose with Nepeta. A grin pulls at the corners of your face. Oh yea, you were supposed to meet her today. “You kept your promise!”

               “I forgot,” you admit. Her face falters, but she shrugs it off.

               “Okay, so I don’t got anymore cookies, but my mama said if she can meet you then she will let me play with you today. Which is really lame, ‘cause I just wanna play! So come on! We gotta goooo!” She grabs your hand and you’re stumbling after her. Damara says you aren’t allowed to play with humans but you pinky swore. The invisible contract bounds you.

               Nepeta’s den is nothing like you expected. First off, she doesn’t live in a nice house like your humans did. It’s more of a shack. Or four walls with a ceiling. It doesn’t buzz with livelihood from the house maids, or the hum of business. It’s just quiet and shady. And oh, her parent is a giant green-blood cat troll… thing. With two mouths?

               “This is my lusus! She’s kind of like a troll, like you, but she’s big and strong! She takes care of me ever since mommy died,” she explains, the excitement dwindling from her tone. You take in her lusus parent. You can certainly see where she gets the obsession of cats from. This thing is like… _part cat._ She’s tall and white. For some reason you feel drawn to her. You wonder if she feels the same. It’s not your fault she sparks long forgotten memories.

               The mention of death leaves you untouched. She comes out of her silent pass in ten seconds flat. Back on to talking, words coming out of her mouth at a mile a minute. “But you’re not supposed to tell anyone about her because I’ve heard it’s really bad. Mommy told me she is a very special thing for trolls and is kind of… illgel? Illegul? To have!”

               You let the information sink in. Fair enough.  You like the weird cat thing anyhow. “I promise!”

               “Purromise!”

               “Purromise!” you repeat. That is a play on words you will _definitely_ be using from now on. It’s just too clever not to. You open your arms for the lusus. She fills the space willingly, and the purr inside her chest vibrates your _whole_ body. Nepeta wraps her arms around the two of you, and you feel it. Absolute bliss.

               “Wanna play a game?” she asks.  Her arms fall by her sides, and you unknowingly mimic the motion.

               “What game?”

               “Uhm… Tag,” she rushes, tapping you on the shoulder. She’s gone, legs nothing more than a blur. You speed after her. She’s getting you confused as to where you are. Intertwining alleyways; tangled and messy. But you dominate them, just inches off of her heels. The steady pounding of your heart keeps you focused. And-

               “Got’cha! Tag you’re it!” You race up and down the abandoned walkways. Easily bent and crinkled to avoid objects. You can hear her laughing behind you, and it’s just so contagious you cannot stop your own bubbly laughter. It makes you weak in the knees, and ruins your focus. You stop.

               The collision is a soft one. Resulting in a new course of laughter. She taps you on the shoulder, and happily informs you that you are it. That’s a big deal. You don’t want to be it, but you’re also kind of tired of running. Hide and seek is a much better game.

               “We should play hide n seek,” you chime, forcing a grin.

               “Why?”

               “Because I want to,” is all you can elaborate. The rest will just have to be explained by a mere shrug of your shoulders. Conflicted, you can see her mentally weighing her options. You can’t make your face do that, so it’s awfully cool when she can. Maybe you can do the thing. You’d probably know if you ever had access to a mirror.

               “Okay, but you still gotta be it.”

               “I don’t wanna be it!”

               “You have to!”

               “No!”

               “Yes!”

               “Nepetaaa!”

               “Mitunaaa!”

               “I’m older so that means _I’m_ the boss of _you._ ”

               “Yea, but, I am a human so that makes _me_ the boss of _you,”_ she corrects. The words strike a chord. Anger is a disgusting feeling. One that bites at you, teeth sinking deep into all the wrong spots. Edging you on to the point of snapping. No. You won’t. No more fights.

               “Okay, so you count to… Ten, and I’ll hide!” Nepeta instructs, taking your silence as a sign of submission. She makes your hands cover your eyes, and checks to see if you’re peeking. You are most certainly not. “Ready?”

               “How do I count?”

               “To ten?” she asks. You shake your head and she makes it a point to let her mouth drop open. Just as you open your mouth to complain, she’s already ahead of you. “You start with one!” she holds up the corresponding finger, and her tone is carefree. “Then two, three, four, five, six!” You’re amazed to find each new number gets a new finger, and they all go up. “Seven, eight, nine, ten!” she completes, her tone completely satisfied. “You try!”

               “What was first again?”

               “One,” she repeats, happy to make sure you have no difficulties.

               “One…”

               “T-“

               “Two! Three!” You’re eager now, that’s your favorite number, so you have to know what comes next. One of those laws you make up and abide by.

               “Four…!”

               “Four! …Five?”

               “Yes, five! And six! Seven, and eight. Wait, wait, Mituna!”

               “What?”

               “Why is six afraid of seven?”

               “What?”

               “Because seven _eight_ nine!” she laughs, and you awkwardly follow her example. Although failing to see what’s funny, you seek her approval. Her laugher dies down, and her eyes seem fixated. You go to ask her what’s wrong, and she points behind you.

               Oh _crap._

 

               Damara stands before you, and her eyes are narrow. She’s hiding her emotion, but you feel it. You are in _so much_ trouble. Maybe you _can_ lose a tree twice.


	6. Tunafish

               They sit and talk about you. Soft little whispers. You wouldn’t even hardly notice them normally. If it wasn’t about you. Or your punishment and human friend. You feel so helpless. And angry. You skid your feet in the dirt and gravel that surrounds your tree. Streaks of your fit are form a small dent in the ground. It brings you satisfaction. See? You’re the boss of something.

               Still, you lean forward and begin to fill the ducts with their soil again. It didn’t do anything bad to you, so you might as well fix it. The traces of your anger remain in traces along your dirtied pants. You’re almost positive you’ll get another earful for this, too.

               You’re still so angry that she went to him to discuss this. You can’t even stand his name. _Rufioh._ That’s the last person you need to be telling you what to do. What’s he know with his stupid unnatural hair? And stupid big horns that he’s just barely going by without decapitating everything in sight. He’s a big, dumb, brainless jerk. That’s right. He’s all those things. And you’re just Mituna. You didn’t even do anything wrong.

               Your arms fold, and you puff out your bottom lip. To be honest, your feelings are just really hurt. Damara probably scared Nepeta and cost you your only friend. Not only that, but you’re in big trouble. And Rufioh is helping out. It’s not fair. It’s just not fair.

               Tears cloud your eyes, and you raise your hands to wipe them away. Why are you crying? You don’t get it. You specifically told yourself that you are _mad_ about this. Not sad. Just mad. So you shouldn’t be crying. That’s dumb. You’re dumb. Your whole body is dumb. Dumb and stupid. But still better than Rufioh because he’s a… a… a really bad word that you can’t think of off the top of your head.

               Speak of the devil. Rufioh is getting walking towards you now. No, you pouted over here for a specific reason. So you _wouldn’t_ have to deal with him. The fur along your spine begins to raise, and your lip curls in an unspoken snarl. Of course, he doesn’t seem to notice one bit.

               “Mituna,” he says, stopping just a few paces before you. He’s got this real goofy look about him. “Damara and I were talking,” you roll your eyes; you already know this, but he keeps on talking, “and we’ve decided it would be best if stayed with me instead.”

               “No!” you shriek, slamming down your fist in a tantrum-like manner. Use your big words, adults always respond to that. “I’m not gonna!” Or just whine.

               “Well, see,” he scratches behind his head, and smiles, “you kind of have to. It’ll be fun.”

               “No!”

               “Mituna, it’s not really your decision.”

               “I said no, so I’m not going!” you yell, the sentence interrupted by a tiny hiccup. Look, he’s making your body cry more. This is the exact reason you shouldn’t go with him. He’s just bad. And awful. And Rufioh.

               “Okay, look, I’ll make a deal with you. If you come with me for uh… Two weeks! Then I’ll let you meet some other trolls that are around your age. Damara doesn’t have the best reputation with them is all. Big ol’ fight with the fuchsia blood, lots of boring adult stuff.”

               You’re not even listening anymore. Your hands are planted ever-so-firmly over your ears, and you continue to shake your head throughout his speech. “I’m not going, I’m not going, I’m not going,” you repeat. You can still see him so you clench your eyes shut, and continue repeating it to yourself. No. No. Damara wouldn’t let you go. She loves you. And reads you bedtime stories. You’re not going to have to say goodbye a second time. You’re not. You’re not.

               You are.

               Rufioh is much bigger and stronger than you. He has a death grip on you. Moving slowly, as if worried he might drop or hurt you. No. He’s walking slowly to torture you. He wanting you to cry and let everyone hear. That must be why he’s doing it.

               So you stop. Your wailing comes to a sharp end, and you glare at your old home. As it grows smaller and smaller. Anywhere but him. He seems surprised by your sudden lack of struggle, and you feel a little smug. That’s one point for you. You’re winning. You’ll just go back tonight when he’s not looking. Then you won’t even have to deal with it.

               Once he’s dragged you far from your tree, and twisted and turned in enough alleyways to confuse you, he finally sets you down. You’re going to be cleaning the stench of him from your fur for weeks. Not like he would ever care. He’s just nudging you along. Sweeping his flimsy tail behind you ever time you slow down too much.

               You hate long walks. But not as much as you hate Rufioh. And his stupid den. It’s not like Damara’s. Her smells of bark and dust. Long summer nights. His is cold. A slip through the bottom of a human’s old house. The bricks slightly rough up the back of your fur as you slip in, and you take a moment to properly glare at the place.

               The place is terribly dark, save for the hole in the floor boards of the abandoned home for you, no sunlight gets in. It reeks awfully of him, and a few other trolls you cannot place. For the most part, the den is empty. Just dirt, and the small patch of grass where the sunlight hits.

               “Uh, welcome,” he fumbles. You don’t say anything.  You’re pretty sure if you just stand there for a really long time, and look super mad he’ll take you home. Instead, he just shuffles past you and lays down in a heap of fur on the grass.

               You wait.

               And wait. And you wait so long you forgot why you were mad. You sigh and defeat, and lay yourself down as far away from him as you can. The dirt is cool, so you lie on your side. And then you realize that you can see him and lie on your other side.

               The sun has gone to sleep, and you wish your belly would take the same advice. It’s always complaining. It’s just a big whiny baby. Your tummy sounds like a tiny dragon, you think. You want to be a tiny dragon. Then you could collect a bunch of stuff and sleep in caves. And be real scary, too.

               Except you’re not. You’re just sort of hungry, and he’s like, not feeding you. See, this is why he’s stupid and Damara is super great. You turn your head to look at him, and he’s _still_ lying there. Great. Now you get to spend the rest of your life living with a rock.

               His belly makes the hungry sounds too. And slowly he’s rising up to his feet. The cow lives! He passes you a lazy glance, shuffles a few paces towards the entrance, and then plops right back down. Okay. What the heck?

               An irritated little whine sounds from the back of your throat. You don’t care about how pathetic you sound right now. You’re _hungry_ and he’s just lying there like your stomach isn’t singing off-key for everyone to hear.

               Your patience has just about run its course when you catch wind of another troll. The fur along your spine raises, and you shuffle awkwardly to your feet. You should stop trying to be intimidating. It makes you look stupid. The troll breaking in seems to agree, too. She’s laughing around the dead raccoon within her maw, and you think she looks pretty stupid, too.

               The fuchsia furred troll drops the kill, and you kind of wish she’d pick it back up again. Then you wouldn’t have to see how sharp her teeth were. Her tongue swipes over her bloodied snout, and you’re suddenly not feeling so bold anymore. You head is laid down first, and then your rump. Your eyes darting from her to as far away as you can possibly look. You don’t want to see her kill you.

               “I think you’re scaring him,” Rufioh pipes up, and you wish you could throw something at him. Like a car or a house. There’s no way you, Mituna Captor, are scared of her. And even if there were, by some stroke of luck, he shouldn’t be saying anything with his big stupid mouth.

               “He looks pike he’s seen a ghost,” she laughs. And she’s getting closer. These are bad combinations. You back up until you feel the brick brushing your hide. It’s going to be mustard blood on her teeth next.

               “Lookit ‘em! He’s reely scared of me!” She boasts, and reaches out a paw to tap you with. This is it. Your end. Rufioh brought you here so you could die a painful, slow death. Damara planned your murder. It all makes sense now. You watched way too many human movies.

               “Yea, Damara is having me take care of him for a while. Said I could keep a better eye on him. Having more denmates and all.”

               “Yea, whale, I don’t reely care what Damara said, now do I? He’s nofin I can’t handle.” She presses her nose against you, and _oh god_ the sea itself could not be colder. She higher than you. By like. A lot. You don’t even recognize her color or smell. The perfect killer.

               “Ay, yo, Earth to midget here. You got a name or somefin? My name’s Meenah. And despite what you think, I’m not gonna krill ya right here.”

               “Meenah, I,” Rufioh begins.

               “Pipe down! I’m getting myself acquainted with the shrimp. So. Got a name?”

               “M’tuna,” you mumble, and it’s only by a miracle that she even heard you. And her eyes light up like she’s been told the best news of her life. Maybe your name was secret password. She _is_ actually going to eat you.

               “Tuna?” she repeats back to you excitedly. “I didn’t even have’ta try. You got a fish pun in your name already! Whale, are you hungry, Tuna?” You stare at her, and she nudges you impatiently with her paw. “I asked you somefin!”

               Your stomach answers. And she’s grinning that nightmare inducing smile again. “You’re in luck, Shrimp! Krilled a reel big one tonight. How big can you get your grub on?” she asks, and you have no idea what she’s saying. She’s just grinning at you, so you shrug. A tiny pout forms on her face (which thankfully rids of the horrifying teeth), and she turns her back to you.

               And holy crap- what is wrong with her tail?

               It’s not fluffy at all. Just a long, thick, rubbery looking thing that kind of almost looks at a triangle at the end. She’s a freak. You’re pretty sure she would call you one too if you said anything, so you just stare at her worriedly as she pries the murdered creature apart.

               There’s no way you’re gonna eat that.

               She lays down on her tummy in front of you. There’s a nice chunk of meat held tightly between her webbed claws. And if you weren’t so hungry, you might’ve cared about this. Too bad you don’t. “Don’t make that face, you haven’t even tried it!” she scolds, and you try to make your face do something else other than frown, but it doesn’t listen.

               She scuffs at you, and shakes her head. “You think you’re gonna live to be as old as me if you can’t even eat?” You look at her, and then look at the food. Calling it food is a bit of a stretch, though. It’s more like… Icky red doo-doo or something.

               You respond in the only mature way possible. By placing you paws over your head. Now you can’t see her, so she can’t see you. And if she can’t see you then she can’t make you eat icky no-no food. She puts it directly underneath of your nose and your turn your head away. No way. Never. Nu-uh.

               “Stubborn as a seahorse,” she grumbles, and drops the torn off meat in front of you. You sniff at it curiously, but still turn your nose away in disgust. You can practically feel the frustration rolling off of her. “You’d pike it if you just tried it. One bite.”

               You look at the meat, and then back to her. One bite and she’d leave it alone. But you could also get rabies or something. Then you’d _really_ look like one of them street trolls. You don’t want to be crazy. But you also don’t want to be hungry. And it doesn’t smell all that bad. Maybe just a nibble was okay.

               You snag the meat between your teeth; tearing off the tinnie _tiniest_ bite you can manage. It so small you don’t even have to chew. And it is _so_ good. Immediately you grab the rest of the meat that was offered to you. You eat it so fast that you nearly choke yourself in the process. You sniff, and swallow it down before looking at her expectantly.

               “Sea, I told you it wasn’t that bad,” she reminds you, and you can catch the smugness of her tone. “I’ll let’chu eat what I caught tonight. But I’ll teach you how to hunt tomorrow, aight, Tunafish?”

               You nod. “Tomorrow!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry this took a year to update.


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